Lickety-Split
by LinChungIsHot
Summary: Gokudera disappeared nine years ago, but now he was back, and he had somehow managed to tilt your world entirely upside-down. You weren't quite sure what to make of it. You'd gone by twelve years without a friend, and now you had one. Boys looked down with disgust at you, and suddenly they wanted your body. And Gokudera...well, he was a mystery. Gokudera x reader x Yamamoto
1. Lost and Found

**"Lost and insecure, you found me lying on the floor, surrounded…"**

* * *

High school sucked.

It didn't matter which high school you were attending. So far, you'd gone to three different schools. Each had been worse than the last.

You were not looking forward to your first day at Namimori High.

Your mother's job came with unpredictable consequences. She was always being forced to move around. You would be completely unprepared for the change—in fact, you were always told it was time to move again after you had settled in.

This time, her job had led her to Namimori. A small town nestled in Japan's mainland, Namimori wasn't even on the map. It was rumored to be a quiet and peaceful town, one where everyone knew each other. Your mother was excited about Namimori. She claimed it was the perfect town to settle down and make a fresh start.

You didn't share half her enthusiasm. It was mid October, and school was already in session. If Namimori really was the type of town where everyone knew each other, that meant that your classmates would already have formed cliques. It would be difficult for a clique to accept an outsider like yourself.

"Today's the day," she sang as you slowly descended the staircase. Your mother seemed comfortable with the house, even though you'd only moved in two days ago—her favorite apron was tied tight around her waist and she was busy mixing pancake batter in a large bowl, cradling it with one arm.

"Yeah," you sighed.

At your weary tone, your mother glanced up. "Aren't you excited?" she inquired. "I'm sure you'll meet tons of new friends. And this is high school! The best time of your life!"

"Correction, high school is supposed to be the worst time of a person's life," you muttered, but she hadn't heard. She was too busy singing to herself. Ugh. How could your mother be okay with all of this? You hated having to move all the time. You hated switching hometowns and schools.

It wasn't like you'd left behind tons of friends in Italy. You barely had any friends. You weren't close to many people.

Of course, you _wanted_ someone who you could call a friend, but everyone was too cynical. Boorish. Sons of bitches. And so you kept to yourself.

"I'm leaving," you announced, slipping your feet into your worn black flats with the ribbon.

"Don't you want any breakfast? I'm making pancakes."

"Not hungry." You made to brush past your mother, but she gave you a look. You exhaled loudly and bent forward, giving her the cheek kiss she wanted. "See you later, Mom."

"Have fun at school," she called as you headed down the driveway.

"If it kills me," you muttered under your breath.

You lived within walking distance to Namimori High, so there was no need to catch the local bus or find a ride. It was a lonely walk. But you needed the exercise.

The reason was also why you were skipping breakfast.

You remembered the taunting from your elementary days. The terrible remarks about pigs. About your weight. Your love for eating. Your ugly appearance.

That was all in the past now. You had made a complete 360. You weren't fat anymore. There wasn't an ounce of supple flesh on your body. And you were up on top when it came to beauty trends. You had a beautiful figure and striking face that even a paper bag and a shapeless blouse couldn't conceal.

Even so, the pain was still evident with the thought of food.

Ignoring the pang in your gut, you shouldered on, making it to Namimori High with a few minutes to spare. The hallways were filled with students in groups of twos or threes. You avoided friendly glances and hostile glares, focused on finding the main office. You didn't know your way around the school; you had no clue how to get to your first period classroom.

The woman behind the desk took one look at you and smiled. "You're (y/n) (l/n)," she said matter-of-factly. "The transfer student."

"That's me."

She handed you a map and a schedule. "Follow the map," she instructed, turning back to the computer. You glanced at the sheet of paper. With disgust, you noted the size of the school. It was gigantic. You could get easily lost.

When you looked back at the woman, you found her buried head-first in a pile of work. It would be best not to distract her. Sighing, you trudged out of the office to trek around the school.

Eventually you found the classroom you were looking for. By now, class had already started, and the teacher's monotone voice drifted out through the slightly ajar door. Oh, man. Everyone's attention would be directed on you when you walked in.

You took a moment to brush off imaginary dirt from the skirt of your Namimori outfit. Then you squared your shoulders and strode in with a confidence you didn't quite possess.

Immediately, you felt the weight of twenty-something students staring at you. It was almost enough to make you falter. You paid them no mind as you moved for the teacher, reaching out to give him a slip of paper with all of your introductory information on it.

He scanned it over quickly. "Okay, class," he said then, setting the paper aside. "We have a new transfer student. Please introduce yourself."

Inhaling once, you raised your head and met the gazes of your peers. "Hi, I'm (l/n) (y/n). I'm from Italy." You gave the customary bow, ducking your head quickly. "Please take care of me."

Whispers immediately started up. Many of the females were eyeing you enviously, jealous of your hair or the bracelet looped around your wrist. A couple of guys sent you flirtatious looks. There were students who seemed uninterested in it all.

You did a fast scan for potential companions. A girl with short light-brown hair and wide hazel eyes was smiling at you in the front row.

Behind her, a raven-haired male with the most intriguing caramel irises was grinning, like he knew a joke that was absolutely hilarious.

Over by the window, a brunette male with spiky brown hair and matching eyes was gazing out the window, a dreamy love-struck expression on his face.

Your eyes jumped to the person seated beside him. And your stomach proceeded to plunge to the floorboards.

Silver hair. Sharp olive eyes. A scowling mouth. An angular face.

You knew that face.

Gokudera Hayato lifted his eyes and met your dumbfounded stare head-on. Then the corner of his mouth twitched upward into an amused smile.

He remembered you.


	2. Smile

"**Oh, you make me smile…**

* * *

"Please take a seat, (l/n)," the teacher was instructing you. His words flew over your head.

You knew you were staring. You couldn't stop.

_What the fuck is Hayato doing here?_

The said male was watching you through narrowed olive irises. For a long moment, neither of you did anything.

Then he turned away with a huffed breath, like he couldn't believe why you were looking at him.

Despite yourself, irritation bubbled in your chest. "Cocky bastard," you muttered under your breath.

"I'm sorry?"

With a jolt, you realized the teacher was still standing beside you, and he had just heard what you'd said. "Th-that's not—I mean—well—"

"I can already tell we are going to have a great year, (l/n)," he said sarcastically. You knew you should apologize, but you were sure he wouldn't accept it. "Now, take a seat, will you? Class has started."

There weren't many open seats. A couple of empty ones were in the very back row. Two or three of them were next to some other students. You decided that the back row seemed very appealing, especially since you didn't want to have to talk to anyone. You took a step forward before the teacher said, "(L/n), sit next to Yamamoto."

"Oh! Right here!" A hand waved energetically in the air. You connected the hand with a body and found that it belonged to the grinning caramel-eyed boy.

With only one glance, you knew your hopes of staying silent were shattered. Yamamoto seemed to be the talkative type. Well, he looked friendly enough.

You shuffled over and plopped down in your seat. Once you were seated, the teacher returned to his lesson about some classic literature book.

"I'm Yamamoto Takeshi," said the male next to you. He extended a hand. "Nice to meet you!"

You looked from his hand to his face. What was he trying to pull? "Hi," you responded slowly.

He held his hand out for another moment, but when you didn't make any move to shake it, he pulled back with a slightly baffled look. "You mentioned you were from Italy, right? So do you happen to know Gokudera?"

Your stomach tensed at the name. Oh, you knew Gokudera. Didn't mean you liked him. But could you tell that to Yamamoto?

You made a split-second decision and answered with, "Never heard of him."

"Really? Too bad," Yamamoto laughed quietly. "I'm sure you guys have common interests and stuff."

"Uh-huh." Nope.

"Yamamoto!" snapped the teacher. "Pay attention!"

"_Hai,_ sorry."

You rummaged through your back pack, searching for the required book. As you did, you used your bangs as a cover-up to examine Gokudera from where he was sitting. He was a row up and over, near the window and that dreamy-eyed brunette.

He was seated in a manner that said he was supremely bored: his feet were kicked up on his desk, and he had his arms up behind his head leisurely. His head was tipped back, eyes shut. Like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

For as long as you could remember, he had always been like that. Arrogant. Condescending. As if he was better than everyone else.

The initial shock of seeing him was gradually wearing off, to the point where rational thoughts ran through your mind.

He'd vanished nine years ago.

You hadn't expected to see him ever again.

You had desperately wished you wouldn't run into him.

You'd suffered throughout your entire childhood because of him.

Fear was settling in your bones. Judging by his earlier smirk, he remembered you. But maybe, you told yourself, maybe he _didn't_. Maybe he was just acting superior because he had caught you staring at him. After all, with killer features like those, he was bound to have many fan girls.

_Yeah…maybe Hayato's forgotten about me._

"Hey, (l/n)?"

A voice shattered your thoughts. You whipped your head to the side and found Yamamoto looking at you.

"If you need help with anything, I'm here," he offered graciously, speaking just above a whisper. "I hope we can be friends, you know."

At a loss for words, you were taken aback.

You'd gone twelve years without someone to call your friend. And here this strange caramel-eyed boy with an infectious grin was asking for friendship?

Who did he think he was?

Suspicion kicked in. He was trying to hurt you. Of course. He was planning something…

But his eyes were open and honest. There was no way someone with such clear eyes could be a back-stabber.

_He's not like the others._

Against your will, your lips were responding to his grin with a smile of their own. You dropped it quickly and looked away, murmuring, "Sure. I'll remember it."

"Awesome," he replied with genuine happiness.

Maybe your mother had been right. Maybe Namimori _was_ the place for a fresh start.


	3. Competition

**"You're trying to keep it just our secret…"**

* * *

Class ended rather quickly, and you were surprised when the bell rang, signaling the change of classes. All around you, students got up and chatter erupted as conversations began simultaneously.

You got to your feet, keeping your eyes down on your books. According to your schedule, you had history next. The classroom was located on the other side of the building. Given your five minutes to get there, you would have to speed-walk through the congested halls to arrive on time.

_Well, hey, look at the bright side. It's a good opportunity for exercise._

You cursed that inner voice, the one that spoke with a malicious tone. Even though you weren't really made fun of anymore by students, the voice never failed to belittle you.

"(L/n), what have you got next?"

A friendly hand landed on your shoulder. Startled, you gasped and jerked backward, ripping your shoulder away.

Yamamoto's smile grew a little helpless. "Sorry, did I scare you?" he apologized. "I was only wondering what class you've got next."

Heart hammering, you took a moment to regain your voice. You knew you were jumpy. It was weird; you were degrading your appearance by acting this way. Was there someone who would target you, because they found your jumpiness amusing?

You blinked a couple of times. Cleared your throat and, with slightly shaky hands, reached into your pocket to pull out your crumpled schedule. "Ah, history," you read. "In 267."

"Nice! I'm headed there as well. Hey, we should go together!"

"No, that's okay…"

"Come on, (l/n). It'll be fun." Yamamoto was smiling even bigger than before, doing his best to reassure you.

Although his friendliness was a reluctantly welcome change, it was a little pushy. "It's fine," you said, regaining your composure. You ran your fingers through your perfectly styled (h/c) locks, absently fluffing the strands out. "I'll go myself."

But Yamamoto hadn't listened. What's worse, he had called someone out. "Tsuna, Gokudera," he said, "(l/n)'s got history with us."

Ice flooded your innards. _Don't tell me…Yamamoto's friends with Hayato?_

The dreamy-eyed brunette was walking over, his books tucked under one arm. "We should hurry," he said. "We're going to be late."

"(L/n)'s got history with us," Yamamoto repeated.

The brunette looked at you. His chocolate eyes were warm. You found his hesitant smile a little charming. "Really? That's great. I'm Sawada Tsunayoshi, by the way."

"Hi," you said curtly, with a nod to match. Tsuna seemed like the type bullies usually preyed on: small, slender, delicate-looking for his age and gender. Maybe knowing a guy like him wouldn't be too bad. But you had no plans to get familiar with Yamamoto and his group. After all, things had a way of biting your butt.

"We should really get going," Tsuna said again. He turned to call over his shoulder, "Gokudera-kun, come on!"

"A moment, Juudaime," came the reply.

And then Gokudera stepped into your line of vision.

"Let's go," he said, addressing the two males. He acted like you weren't even part of the picture; it was as though you weren't there. Even though that should have satisfied you, it had the opposite effect of irritating you to no end.

"All right," said Tsuna, and he started out the classroom. Gokudera trailed after him, walking at a lazy pace, his books set comfortably under his arm and against his hip.

Yamamoto motioned for you to follow. As much as you didn't want to, you figured that safety was in numbers. Wait, that didn't work—not if Gokudera was an integer.

Aside from that, though, they knew Namimori High better than you did. You couldn't risk getting lost again. So you gathered your things and scuttled after the boys.

Gokudera led the way, weaving through student traffic and shoving past jams with a lowered shoulder. "Move it," he snapped to the unlucky ones who got in his path. Occasion he accented his words with a brush of his arm.

Tsuna reprimanded him from time to time with a soft, "Gokudera-kun." You took note of the familiarity. Were they blood brothers? Or just really good friends? The Gokudera you remembered was cold-hearted and callous, with a quick temper and nasty words. _Especially _nasty words…

It was as the four of you were walking down another corridor when Gokudera finally addressed you.

"Why are you following us, woman?" he demanded.

You couldn't respond quickly enough, and he closed his eyes haughtily. "Tch."

"She's got history with us, apparently," Tsuna explained.

"Oh, that's right," Yamamoto said. "(L/n)'s from Italy. Gokudera, think maybe you know her?"

Did Gokudera know you?

Did Gokudera _know_ you?

"Of course not. Why would I?"

His words were like cold water splashed onto your face.

You drilled your eyes into the back of his uniform. Tried unsuccessfully to shoot laser beams too, while you were at it. So maybe Gokudera didn't remember you, after all. That was a good thing, right?

_They say ninety-five percent of the time, bullies don't even remember their victims…_

Here was a prime example of that statement, yet…

If Gokudera wanted to play that game, you would, too.

You spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm (l/n) (y/n). Nice to meet you."

He grunted noncommittally.

_Screw you, Hayato._


	4. Honesty

"**Honesty is honestly the hardest thing for me right now…"**

* * *

Somehow, you got through the rest of your morning classes. They passed by in a seemingly-endless cycle of blurs, homework, catch-up assignments, and students.

It was only mid October—the school year had started two months ago—and you already were drowning underneath the weight of assignments you needed to make up in order to be on the same page with the rest of the class.

Time check was near noon. It was finally time for lunch. Coincidentally, Yamamoto had the same lunch block as you. So did Tsuna and Gokudera. You were starting to dub the group The Trio, since they happened to have all the same classes.

Being his friendly self, Yamamoto sforced/s invited you to eat lunch with him and The Trio. You didn't want to, but what other choice did you have? It was either grit your teeth and bear it or sit alone. The latter didn't sound promising. Who knew which bullies would pick on you if you sat by your lonesome?

You hadn't had time to pack yourself a lunch this morning. Luckily, Namimori had a lunch system, so you merged with the line of students awaiting plate lunch.

The main dish was some sort of beef patty surprise. It was a mess of ground beef, gravy, beans, and what looked like shoe lace. Normally you were fine with most foods, but your stomach rolled at the sight of the dish. There was no way you'd be eating i_that_/i.

To be healthy, you grabbed a salad and a cup of tossed lettuce, black olives, and tomatoes. You quickly debated over the beverages; you settled for carbonated water over orange soda. Then you decided to indulge just a little and moved over to the dessert line to see what there was.

One look at the desserts and you were suddenly angry for not having brought a brown bag lunch. Cookies, brownies, chocolate…the list went on and on.

Your stomach tightened. Frowning, you fisted your hands and pressed them against your thighs.

Over the course of the last five years or so, you had worked hard to establish and maintain a body image everyone approved of. You often had to suppress sugar rushes. Any and all chocolate cravings were immediately squashed. At most, you allowed yourself a tiny inch-sized square of dark chocolate a day.

But all the self restraint you had practiced seemed to diminish now. Your skin crawled as you continued standing there, staring at the fatty enemies.

You reached out, making a last-minute decision to double your indulgence serving for today and devour that yummy-looking chocolate fudge brownie square.

You had just set it onto your plate when someone behind you scoffed loudly. "I don't get it. You took a salad _and_ a brownie. The two contradict each other."

A drawling voice, arrogance dripping from each word. You knew the voice.

"What do you want?" you said flatly, not even turning around to look at Gokudera.

He snorted quietly. A quick exhale of his nose. _The nerve._ "I'm just questioning your eating habits, is all."

"Mind your own business," you snapped, not liking the way your stomach curled in on itself at his words.

He scoffed again. It was all you could do to keep from whacking him upside the head.

"What do you want?" you repeated, pushing your tray along the line.

"I'm buying myself a lunch. Is that a crime?" Gokudera spread his hands mockingly in front of him. His olive eyes sliced into yours, a challenge.

You'd love to go at it, but backing down was the better option. "Whatever," you muttered.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shake his head. "Women," he said under his breath. "I'll never understand them."

This wasn't the Gokudera you remembered. With clarity, you recalled an angsty, somber boy, with haunted eyes and a hard jaw, with a defiance that told the rest of the world to fuck off.

In the lunch line, right here and right now, there was something almost nonchalant about the way he spoke to you. It wasn't flirting, but he wasn't ignoring your existence completely. It was a somewhat casual conversation.

And it was weird.

You paid for your lunch quickly. Behind you, Gokudera did the same. You didn't want to have to speak to him anymore than you had to.

Grabbing your tray, you set off for the main lunch hall at a brisk pace. But you took three steps and stopped—you had no clue where your table was.

"Need directions?" Gokudera was smirking ever so slightly when you glanced back at him. He moved past you. "Follow me."

With no other avail, you did as told, threading around others to stay behind the silverette. You still couldn't see Yamamoto or Tsuna anywhere.

Keeping his eyes turned forward, Gokudera said, "So, you're from Italy?"

"Yep."

"Which part?" he inquired, and you told him.

"Coincidence. I was there, too," he murmured quietly, looking deep in thought.

You clamped your mouth shut to avoid more talking, among other things. Over his shoulder, you finally spotted the spikes that belonged to Tsuna's head. Relieved, you pushed past Gokudera to head on over. As you moved to the table, you felt eyes drilling into your back. You didn't dare look.


End file.
